


Safe Zone

by thefandombeckons



Series: The Trials and Tribulations of Jazz [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (because that's all I can write apparently), (kind of?), Coding, POV Second Person, Polyhex, Polyhexian Terms and Culture, Spec Ops - Freeform, Spec Ops Coding, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 20:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18199238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandombeckons/pseuds/thefandombeckons
Summary: Jazz is a mech of many talents. Those talents require specific coding. And sometimes, that coding goes haywire.





	Safe Zone

**Author's Note:**

> Note: va-Prim is an informal Polyhexian term for Prime. A informal term is only used when one is close to the mecha in question. Typically, the term is pronounced "vah Prihm." The formal and more commonly used term is ve-Prim, pronounced "vay Prihm."

You squirm against the bindings that the big mech forced you into. Static hisses out of your vocalizer. The... medic, he said, doctor, approaches. His vocalizer spins out melodic noise, directly contrasting your manic crackling. Faintly, your audials register it, but your processor is too busy screaming to translate the Iaconian. A snarl morphs your face and you snap at his hand as it comes near your helm. All he does is vent and softly smile at you. This mech confuses you. More importantly, he confuses your coding.

_Bad. Medic._ **No! Good! Friend!** _Bad! Medics bad! Remember?_   **He friend! Pets! Safe!** _Safe? **Safe.**_

For a moment, the screaming stops.

Later, when you hijack the medbay footage despite va-Prim's insistence that you  _not_ , you can see yourself relaxing in those brief nanokliks of silence. But now, in this time, the medic calls himself Ratchet and you Jazz,  _my dear friend_. He pets your helm and you chirr at him, even more confused. And then you register the big mech with the guns in the doorway and all you can see is  ** _danger danger DANGER_** __, and then Ratchet is screaming at him― _Ironhide, get out, we're fine, OUT―_ and you're howling and struggling―

And then it's all over and the medic  _(your medic, your processor whispers)_ is sitting by the side of your berth, reading something out loud. It's a medical file, an old one, a case he brings out every time  _it_ happens. 

You mutter, "That one, again? C'mon, Ratch." 

Ratchet's grin is blinding. You blink underneath your visor, and hesitantly smile back. He gets up.  _And the next story starts,_ you think wryly.

 


End file.
